Awkward Moment

So there I was sitting at the bar at the British Beer Company, my favorite watering hole when I am in Hyannis, drinking a beer with my newest friend - the driver of the maroon Hummer. He says his real name is Marvin, but I should call him 'Zemo'. We were still chuckling about the contretemps at the intersection with the global warming kids. "Hell, when I saw them I thought it was gonna be a car wash. I like it when the chicks get soapy on my car. But, this bunch of treehugger wussys..." he snorted.

I followed his eyes, which seemed to be trying to focus on something behind me, and turned around to see that we were being glared-at harshly by an untanned, bespeckled woman who had come into the bar with two small black dogs on leashes and a plastic bag containing what appeared to be dog doo. "You two are not funny!" she said by way of introduction. 

"You ruined that demonstration of exuberance by those lovely innocent young people. They were just having fun, and you spoiled the moment. You are not funny or brave, you should be ashamed of yourself with your drunken behavior. 

"Madam" Zemo burped the word, "I trust that you are not referring to moi when you are talking about dipsomaniacal behavior. I have not had but 4 or 5 beers today - not counting breakfast of course. I assure you that am a long way from drunk. Besides - I am not the one carrying dogshit around in a plastic bag as if it was a perfectly normal thing to do. So, if we want to open up the door of shame..."

"You think you are funny. I think you are ..." she hesitated, just long enough for Freddy the bartender who was witnessing this scenario to interject, "Hey lady, get them fucking mutts out of my bar before I call the cops!"

Looking as if she had been goosed with an umbrella, the woman stood her ground. "I think you should clean up your language young man!  Whereupon she turned and marched out into the sunlight, with the dogs trailing, wagging their tails.

I turned back to the bar, peeled a $50 bill off my roll, smoothed it out on the varnished wooden bar and grinned at the bartender, "Freddy, kindly get another beer for me and my friend Zemo here. And ... pour a little something for yourself."

Honk for Global Warming

Yesterday I was walking on Main St in in Hyannis. My wife was engaged in serious (and serial) shopping, so I had some time to kill. I was looking for an ATM when I approached an intersection with some young people stationed on all 4 corners.

The kids looked to be college age and were animatedly displaying large poster board signs that said, "Honk for Global Warming. No day at the Beach!" and, "It's getting Hot out here!" Some cars were dutifully tooting their horns. But some drivers passed by with frowns and extended middle fingers.

"What's this about?" I asked one young fellow who seemed to be having a good time.
"Just trying to save the planet, mate" he beamed superciliously.  I ignored the fact that his accent betrayed the fact that he was in the wrong hemisphere as well as latitude. I suppressed the urge to tell him to go back home and stop wasting our valuable New England-climate-balancing oxygen.

"Please feel free to make a honking sound, if you like." he smiled with the genuine smile of an evangelist who is certain that they are bringing the good news to the godless heathens.

I frowned. "I am more concerned with noise pollution than I am with global warming. Besides how does this help? Your signs don't make it clear whether you are for or against global warming. Besides not all scientists agree on the matter."

He just looked at me like I was being intentionally obtuse. "The UN says it's a problem, mate. You can't find a more neutral organization."
I laughed, "The UN is the most corrupt organization on the planet! What about the 'Oil for food' program? What about all the genocide that they are ignoring? They are corrupt and useless!"
"I haven't heard anything about those things."

Just then a maroon Hummer came through the intersection, honking his horn.
The college kids started booing and giving him a thumbs down sign. The driver, a big tanned dude wearing only a bathing suit screeched to a stop and jumped out. The look in his eyes showed that he had consumed several adult beverages.
"Ok!" he yelled in a whiskey voice, glaring at the sign holders "Who wants to get their ass kicked for global warming?"
The demonstrators went suddenly silent, lowered their signs and looked around to see if anyone was volunteering. No one was.
The Hummer driver laughed at the pall that he had thrown on the party, jumped back in his car and peeled-out.

I almost felt sorry for the college kids. But maybe they could identify with the missionaries who preached God to the cannibals and then were invited to dinner.

I found an ATM and got a wad of cash. As I walked further up the street, I noticed the Hummer parked in front of the British Beer Company. Next to the bar at Baxter's, BBC is is my favorite watering hole in Hyannis, so I decided to go in. Sure enough, the driver was at the bar, now wearing a gaudy Hawaiian shirt, swigging a large stein of dark ale. I walked over and asked him if he was the one who had just yelled at the global warming kids.
"Yeah! That was me. Why?" he grinned, eyes unfocused.
"I just wanted to buy you a beer," I said.

A Patriot

Cares about people as much as the piece of cloth allegedly representing the people.

Feels that all men are not created equal; some are nasty, brutish, and short and it is the job of the Commonweal to help them approach equality, or put them in jail.

Volunteers for service to their country rather than pontificating about how others should sacrifice their time and blood.

Holds those who he elects to the same standards as those who he despises.

Does not condone voting fraud because he suspects the opposition is doing it.

Can believe that the Constitution needs to be updated

Can vote for a communist if he believes he or she would be a good leader

Can believe that unresticted free trade will lead to market in purloined body parts, human slavery and nuclear weapons sold at roadside stands as if they were fireworks.

Doesn't accuse others of hating America merely because the others want to change the way some tings are done.

Is not to be confused with nationalist (my country at all costs right or wrong)

Dumpf*cks Lunch

The sun was blazing as we walked toward the unimpressive building that housed the mexican restaurant. Bill said lets sit out side. No its too hot. I never get my way. You are just lucky we let you come with us so shut up Pricks, he mutteres.

Nice looking waitress looks at us like we are speaking a foreign language. Margaritas all around. She gets that. Deetto orders veggie burrito. Bill calls it a fag order. The waitress laughs and points to his strawberry marg and says pot calling kettle maybe. We all laugh at that one Sipping our salty margaritas watching the TVs. You cant look anywhere without seeing a TV. Some weather babe is pointing to red blob surrounded by yellow and green where the storms are moving in our direction Nice tits says Bill Then there is a promo for the TV station I did that spot says Bill. We hate it with the fast cuts we yell Pricks, he sulks. local celebrity babe reading the news Clooney says she looks like a skank. He wouldn't do her with Bill's dick. We eat our tacos and beans, veggie burritos and order some beer to chase down the Margs.
Look at that wind Deetoo says we look out the window at the leaves and bits of vegetation roiling around in the wind like you see on tornado hunters. Then the rain and hail for chrisakes pea sized bullets. A river of dark water churning in the streets almost over the curb. TV screen goes blue searching for sattelite signal.
By the time we finish our lunch it is all over and the TV's are working again. Clooney pays for lunch with his fathers day gift certificate. Because its my birthday,they tell me not to pay anything. Deetwo pays for the drinks. Bill says I drove and shamelessly throws in a mere fiver. Everyone calls him a cheap prick, except me.

As we leave Bill says he is glad we didn't sit outside. We pelt him with toothpicks.
He is the driver so we let him in the car. He heads back to Cherry St but being a numnutz takes a wrong turn. If that isn't enough a big tree has fallen across the road and we are forced to detour to the right. Unfamiliar streets. Suddenly it is tropical again. Strange sight: Freezing pellets of fallen hail still blanket the lawns. Clooney urges Turn Left. Deetoo says no turn right. Bill goes straight. We are hopelessly lost. Driving around the lifeless storm whipped unknown territory of auburndale two deckers and vinyl clad apartments. Yelling Where the fugawee!
Finally after wandering for what seemes like days without food or water we stumble back on familiar streets. Time is of the essence now. The Mexican fart food is building up dangerous lava pools of intestinal gasses which threaten to eruct in violent spasms of noisome vapors, or worse. I am the first to be dropped off. They all wish me happy birthday and I let go of an SBD as I exit innocently from the gray Toyota. Hah.

As the gas-filled Toyota backs out of the driveway, I wave farewell then my attention is drawn to my ruined garden. The hail has struck here too shredding the hostas and clipping the tomato plants like a scythe Where have you been yells my wife from the door the storm was awful we hid in the basement My young grandkids who we are babysitting yell grandpa you missed the tornado we were scared. then they go back to their monopoly board. I go out to the porch and sit there in the tropical dampness wondering about the tomatoes and cilantro dozing off thinking of Jack Nicholson's bucket list quote Never trust a fart